


A Night Swept with Stars

by Lasgalendil



Series: Starlight and Song [13]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Gigolas - Freeform, Hair, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Won't Say I'm In Love, I blame Disney, I can't write erotica, I'm Sorry Tolkien, Inspired by Poetry, Interspecies, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Iranian poetry I shit you not, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Sindarin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:55:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4446083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/pseuds/Lasgalendil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elf loves Dwarf.<br/>Dwarf loves Elf.</p><p>...wherein the Dwarf finally says it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night Swept with Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).
  * Inspired by [#1958](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/132842) by Rumi. 
  * Inspired by [#583](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/132845) by Rumi. 



_Ci in-‘waew ned fuin elenath_  
_Im las lhasbelin rheniol trî in-raid_  
_e-mathad, i-mibed, i-veleth gîn_  
_Nuin pladad-hen i chaim gîn_  
_A! Man ú-‘irithon?_

Fucking hell.

I am a Dwarf. And it’s not as if I don’t know I’m appreciated—Mahal-damned Elf will sing, cry out, bloody bring a cave-in down around his pointed ears. And I usually take it as a compliment, have fucked his brains out, legs shaking, chest heaving, can’t remember a bloody word of Westron, sometimes even his own name. But once—just once!—it would be nice to know what one’s bedmate says, Elf though he be.

 _“A! A! Elâ!”_ Bloody Elf still flushed, nose, cheeks, ears a shade of rosy pink like the dawn brushing over snow. Eyes blown, distant, skin slick with sweat and strands of himself. _“A, Gimli!”_ Damned Elf. Comes early, comes often. Afterglow can last for hours. Touching ears, nipples, cock, arse, it doesn’t matter. My fingers, tongue, cock, beard make no difference. Just being fucked makes him, well… _fucked_. And thoroughly.

[I’m a Dwarf. I don’t write poetry.]

So I sit. Just sit. Watch him. Ears twitching, eyes tearing, chest rising and falling like the waves of his damned Sea. Watch him and wonder what exactly goes on between those pointed ears of his.

But sated or not, he senses the silence. My stares. _“Man—Gimli—i-velethron-nîn—“_ he blinks languidly. “I—Gimli?”

“Nothing, Elf.” And that concern, that caution, creeps back in his eyes. He’s too timid, too tearful, too afraid of rejection. Thinks every moment I’m not combing, kissing, fucking that tight arse of his I’ve forgotten how to love him. I sigh. “It’s just once I’d like to bloody know what you’re saying.”

He smiles. Springs lightly to hands and knees, comes to me. Kisses me. Softly. Sweetly. Singing all the while. Lips brushing lightly—oh so lightly—over and against mine, moving on to my beard, cheeks, and finally ears, now with teeth and tongue, gentle nips and soothing licking. “ _Gi melin,”_ he sings, sighs. _“Gi melin.”_

Now climbing onto me, against me, legs wrapping round, combing me, kissing me—

And— _oh._

…well. This is—new. Unexpected. Not altogether unpleasant.

[Nothing I haven’t done before.]  
[Or any Dwarf either curious or desperate enough.]  
[But still. Elf?]  
[Elf never initiates anything more than his Mahal-damned combing.]

“Elf?” Presses himself to me slowly up and down, shafts bumping, brushing, feel his soft skin glide across my hair as he frets against me. And that pressure, that gentle, constant, unrelenting pressure is enough. I am hard. Swollen. Push back against him, a tangled, sweaty mix of legs and length. He is uncut, unpierced, nearly hairless, and I a Dwarf of many journeys. He is an Elf. I, a Dwarf. But in this—even in our differences—we are the same.

“Elf—“

Bloody height is a damned nuisance, even as flexible as he is. Can’t kiss him, not properly. Pink, peaked nipples not far from my mouth, my beard. I tickle. Tease. Torment.

[I am rewarded with a gasp of “Ai, Óli!”]  
[As if Aulë were the one fucking him.]  
[He gave me the hammer. I choose how to wield it.]

His skin is flushed from blood and beard. I worry him with tongue and teeth. Lick long neck, taut muscles, stark bone between his breasts with every thrust.  _“Ai, Gimli! Huio! Huio!”_ Faster now. His hands grip my hair, arms about my head. He is whining, mewling, gasping, so close, so close—

 _“A, Gimli!”_ He comes against me, spilt in the hair of my beard, belly, groin. He falls into me, spent and sweaty. Skin trembling, those ears twitching, flushed, swollen still. Nuzzles himself against my neck, my beard, sighing, singing.

[Sweetly. So sweetly.]  
[Just bloody once I would know what he sings.]

 _i-Dhuinen adh i-nannin luithiathan i-‘lewellin nîn_  
_a Sauthathan chae i-nîr i—ú-chebin_  
_Nef i-Chaerast lastiel nan linnath mˆyl_  
_Awarthathon i-menedh bain ach meleth._

 _“i-Chathod-nîn,”_ he nestles onto my chest, into my beard. _“I-chervenn-nîn.”_ Mahal-damned Elf. So pretty. So fuckable. Flexible. Soft. Delicious. Durin’s beard, such a tease! I am hard still, balls blue and aching, and already he wants only to comb and cuddle.

[Bloody, fucking, ridiculous Elf.]

“Mahal-damned Elf,” I say. Pat his head. Try to comb him out one-handedly.

[The other is occupied.]

“I—oh.” He flushes. Seems…disappointed? Ashamed?

“’S alright, Elf,” I grunt. Mahal knows I can get myself off.

“No, I—please?” So I let him. Bring him down, hands in hair, fingers on ears, bring him down to me and slip myself inside. Not too far, not too deep, just gently, gently. Feel the slow rhythm of his tongue, the smooth softness of the inside of his cheeks, the tight, moving heat of him all around me. The humming in his throat as he sings. Look down, watch his eyes close, brow furrowed, face shadowed in hair, that slick mouth against me, bringing me in. Sucking me off.

…swallowing.

“Fuck, Elf.” I pet his head as he licks me clean, nestled against the crook of my thigh. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Then—

“Maralmizu.”

“Mahal’s great cock, Elf!” I pull away. “Durin’s balls! Where the bloody fuck did you learn that?”

[Not from me.]  
[Certainly—ashamedly—not from me.]  
[I am a Dwarf. I have my pride.]

He flushes. Looks away. “I—you won’t—be angry?”  
“No, Elf. Not with you.” Not angry. Not ever. “Who the bloody fuck did you ask?”

[Not Amad.]  
[Please, Mahal, _anyone but Amad_ …]  
[Who else would tell him?]

“I—“ he buries his face in his hands, hair. Ducks head under my beard.  
“Elf!” Even fucking never seen him so undone. So—dare I think it?—afraid.  
“I—Msizi?” he whines. And I imagine him going to our little Blackfoot, her telling him, not knowing—no way knowing—that he has never heard the words, that he only wants to know, to imagine what they would sound like if ever I were to say them.

[Damn you, Dwarf.]  
[Damn you.]

I remember, then, all the things I have said instead. Dwarves like fucking. Need fucking. Dwarves fuck. How they feel love. Express it. And my Elf, Oh my poor Elf—is that why? “You know I—oh, fuck’s sake, Elf—I love you (there, I said it), even when we’re not fucking?” I ask him. “You know that. Don’t you?”

He finally meets my eyes, worrying his lip. “I—always?”

“Yes, you stupid, fucking Elf,” I kiss, comb, promise him. “Pretty, singing Elf. My Elf. Maralmizu. Maralmi-astû. Always.”

* * *

**Guys, guys, combing is canon!**

**Famp (Gnomish) n.** handling, touching, feeling; stroking, caressing, ‘fuss’; fingering, appraising, assay [GL/33.2301]

So I took a word with a similar meaning and just went with it!  **Mattha-** (Noldorin) normalized to **Matha-** (Sindarin): “To stroke, feel, handle”

Matha- (v) to comb  
Math (n): “comb”  
mathad(n; gerund): “combing”

Mathron (n): male who combs  
Mathril (n): female who combs  
Mathader (n): “male combmate” combines “one who combs” with daer, word for bridegroom  
Mathadîs (n): “female combmate” combines “one who combs” with dîs, word for bride/wife

* * *

 

**Original poems based on Rumi's Rubaiyat #1958 and #593 (Translated into English by Zara Houshmandin)**

You are the wind on a night swept with stars  
I am a leaf caught in the current  
Of your combing, kissing, loving  
Under this touch of your tender hands  
How shall I not tremble?

 _Ci in-‘waew ned fuin elenath_  
_Im las lhasbelin rheniol trî in-raid_  
_e-mathad, i-mibed, i-veleth-gîn_  
_Nuin pladad-hen i-chaim-gîn_  
_A! Man ú-‘irithon?_

Literal translation:  
You are the wind on a night of stars  
I am an autumn leaf sailing through the rushing  
of your combing, your kissing, your love  
Under this touch of your hands  
Oh! How shall I not tremble?

  
The tides will take my golden song  
And carry away the sorrows I do not own  
On the distant Shore in music of gulls  
I will repent them all but one.

 _i-Dhuinen adh i-nannin luithiathan i-‘lewellin nîn_  
_a Sauthatha chae i-nîr i—ú-chebin_  
_Nef i-Chaerast lastiel nan linnath mˆyl_  
_Awarthathon i-menedh bain ach meleth._

Literal translation:  
The high tide and low tide will quench my golden song  
And drain away the weeping I do not keep  
On this side of the Far Shore having listened to the singing of gulls  
I will forsake all final fates but love.

Maralmizu (Neo-Khuzdul): I love you (familiar form).

Maralmi-astû (Neo-Khuzdul): I love you (respectful form-when used in poetry indicates high level of value, attention, or adoration.)


End file.
